


missing our world

by virtuemoirlike (katya_kool)



Series: grief 'verse [1]
Category: Figure Skating RPF, Olympics RPF
Genre: Angst, F/M, Future Fic, Healing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-06-24
Updated: 2018-06-24
Packaged: 2019-05-27 15:59:45
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,302
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15028133
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/katya_kool/pseuds/virtuemoirlike
Summary: grief is commonly described in five stages; a study of grief and V/M





	missing our world

**Author's Note:**

> note- These are all just spots on the endless timeline of grief. This isn’t necessarily the moment they fall into each of the categories, rather, just a spot in it. There isn’t a complete story with all the details, and you can fill in the blanks as you wish. It’s my own study of grief, with a V/M application. I hope you all enjoy it.  
> **  
> disclaimer- i am not a psychologist, nor have ever experienced the loss of a child. therefore, i am not claiming to be a expert in grief or how that works. this is simply a work of fiction, and a story I wanted to tell. that being said, if some of me definitions/storylines are false or unrealistic, please comment (politely)! thanks xx.

i. Prologue

They’ve learned the five stages of grief according to Kubler Ross very well, or at least in theory.

With all of their therapists over the years, it was bound to happen.

They’ve even worked through it with their past trauma.

They thought what they had gone through was trauma

That was nothing.

Nothing compared to this.

 

_“I love her so much.”_

_“I know I know.”_

_“I.”_

_“I know I know.”_

 

ii. Denial

_Denial is the first stage of grief, a fact mostly agreed upon worldwide by psychologists. It helps us survive the loss while the world is meaningless and overwhelming. We become numb to everything besides what happened. Life turns into being very day-by-day focused, with the future being too much to consider even slightly. It slows things down a little for us. We are trying to live in a preferred reality, where everything will be ok and work out. It’s a natural defense mechanism that we enable so we can carry on. Along with the other stages, there is no set timeline, just a general flow._

She races into the hospital waiting room, having just gotten off an emergency flight from Paris. She was just there for a couple of days on business, her husband had assured her that they would be fine, but he had called, and things hadn’t sounded good. Her daughter had fallen on the playground, so he brought her in to the hospital just to make sure she was fine, and during her labs they found something unusual. She had booked a flight home immediately and muttered apologies to her coworkers, but her focus was on her daughter.

The taxi was slow, but she’s finally arrived and Scott doesn’t look good, which fills her with dread. Scott’s leg’s fidgeting anxiously and his hair is pushed back, and there’s tears brimming at the corners of his eyes.

“It’s terminal Tess.”

 _It’s what_.

She’s a smart woman, always has been, but the word _terminal_ is suddenly not in her vocabulary. It can’t be applied here, not here. Not with her perfect baby girl, sitting in her hospital room playing with her dolls.

_We just got her new clothes for the winter. Will she able to wear them?_

The doctor comes in and introduces himself, and Tessa feels herself shaking his hand but doesn’t _feel_ it, she’s like a marionette, her body is moving on autopilot beyond her control. She can just hear the word _terminal_ repeating in her head over and over, and there’s cotton in her ears blocking everything else out. She realizes both the men are staring at her, so she shakes her head and tries to wake herself up. It doesn’t work.

_It’s just a bad dream._

“Ms. Virtue-Moir, unfortunately your daughter has a terminal case of acute megakaryoblastic leukemia.”

_This isn’t just a bad dream._

 

They discharge her and send her home a couple of days later. There isn’t much they can do, according to their lead oncologist, a woman with a medical degree from Harvard. The hospital gives them some prescriptions for pain meds, but that’s pretty much it. It seems pretty harsh to Tessa, giving their daughter a death sentence with only an ‘I’m sorry’, but that’s what she gets these days. Someone calls the next day to set up a play date, ‘oh my Lucy has missed your daughter, where have you been,’ but she just hangs up. The world is still turning, but her world _isn’t_. She calls her back later and apologizes and sets up a date anyways, even if she doesn’t know if her daughter will make it until then. It seems like the right thing to do.

She does what she can control, takes her daughter to swimming practice, doing her hair, picking out her outfit. One day she starts crying the middle of a grocery store, because she’s trying to meal plan for the week, but she doesn’t know what to get because they might be at the hospital or she could even be gone. Her daughter is so confused when it happens, her mother is sobbing by the cereal aisle, and a friend finds them and takes her to her house for a bit and calls Scott. He finds her and picks her up, and his voice is wobbly when he asks her to come home. They leave without buying anything, cart abandoned. They’ll eat out tonight.

_“This can’t be happening.”_

_“But it is my darling, it is.”_

iii.                 Anger

_Anger is the second stage of grief. Anger is limitless, and it is a weapon wielded at everyone a person knows, even their loved ones. We are taught to repress anger, but it can be beneficial in some cases. Anger is connected to pain and love, without them there would be no anger. There is also blame in the anger, directed at anybody and anything. It’s something we cling to in a sea of nothingness. It’s a bridge back to reality and connects you to people again._

Scott’s heart is breaking for his wife, who is still numb, and for his daughter, he is angry. He cannot get over the fact that she didn’t do anything to deserve this. It isn’t her fault that these cells invaded her body without her consent. It isn’t right, it isn’t _fair_. A child dying is not right, never ok, because it simply doesn’t make sense. They should have so much more time to live, to do, to exist. She’s _perfect_. He rationally knows that nobody is perfect, not even his daughter, but its his _daughter_. And she’s terminal, and he doesn’t know what to do. He’s pure anger at this point, because she doesn’t deserve this. He doesn’t deserve this. Tessa doesn’t deserve this. They didn’t do anything wrong. So, he’s mad.

He’s mad at his mother, who keeps calling and asking for updates, along with the rest of their family. There are no more updates, what part of the word ‘terminal’ is hard to understand. His daughter is _dying_ , and there’s nothing he can do. He gets that they want to help, but their presence is _choking_ him instead. There’s too much pity and sadness in their eyes. His siblings are holding their children a little bit tighter, and he would understand except for the fact that his child is dying. He can’t handle it right now. He wishes they would get that.

He’s mad at himself, for not recognizing the signs of the disease earlier. He should have known something was up. The doctor didn’t say so explicitly, but how else could it have gotten this bad? How could he _harm his own daughter_? He’s always thought of himself of a good father, with some shortcomings sure, but overall, he was a good dad. But he didn’t protect her from this. He failed. He failed the most important people in his life, her, and Tessa.

He’s mad at the doctor who gave them the diagnosis. It’s not their fault, he knows that rationally, but he shattered the illusion they had been living in and forced them to wake up. His face will forever remind him of that moment whenever he sees him in the hospital after that and takes to avoiding him. He’s not proud of his anger, but he’s given up on trying to rationalize it. He has more important ways to focus his emotions.

He’s mad at his wife, for forcing him to hear the diagnosis alone. If she was there, they would hear it together, and then when his world was falling apart she would have been there to hold on to. But she wasn’t, and all he had was the sight of his daughter watching TV inside the room. She should have been there, and he shouldn’t have had to be alone. She got longer with her healthy, and he has had to bear the burden longer. The twisted part of himself is jealous, jealous that she got more time. He hates being mad at Tessa, especially when it isn’t her fault, but he’s just trying to keep a grip on himself.

He’s even mad at his daughter, and that’s what he feels worst about. If she hadn’t have fallen, they wouldn’t have done the bloodwork, and she would still look fine. He would look at her and wouldn’t see the words ‘terminal cancer’ flashing above her head. All of his future memories with her are tainted with that, with the fact that he knows she’s slowly dying and there’s nothing he can do to stop it.

He doesn’t go back to the house and shatter stuff or destroy all their possessions. He’s angry, but he isn’t stupid. He can’t do that to Tessa. He just has a simmering anger for a while, at the world they thought they loved.

_“I hate the world. How could they do this to us?”_

_“This is no longer our world, my love.”_

iv. Bargaining

_Bargaining is the third stage of grief. It’s where we seek a temporary truce, commonly with a divine being. It’s full of false hope. We use ‘if only’ and ‘what if’ statements, trying to find a solution to tragedy. We are oh so desperate. Guilt commonly accompanies bargaining, regardless of we did anything or not. We remain in the past, and focus on a singular event, unwilling to look to the future._

She’s researching clinical trials when he finds her in the middle of kitchen at one am. Her eyes are bloodshot, and this is the worst she’s ever felt, worse than after Sochi, or either other surgeries or anything. Nothing compares.

She sees him slink into the room.

“Tess it’s.”

“I know it’s terminal.” Doctors don’t lie, and she heard it same as he did, but she can’t just sit there.

“Then what”

Why can’t he see what she’s s trying to do? She’s just trying to help her child, her _only child._

“We have to get her more time.” She continues clinking on links and writing down notes. There has to be something.

He looks like he’s approaching a caged animal when he comes near her. “The doctors said”

“I don’t care.” _She cares so so much._ “If we can just get her more time.”

He pulls up a chair next to her, craning his neck to look what’s up on her laptop.

“Dubai? New York? Paris? Tessa, we can’t just fly her around the world on a pipe dream trying to find a miracle cure.”

She looks at him intently, and suddenly she’s in business mode, like this isn’t about trying to find their daughter cancer treatment. She can do this, why can’t he see that? Doesn’t he believe in her?

“Yes, we can. We have the money.”

“We both know it’s not about the money” His face is earnest, even though he’s breaking her heart.

Her controlled face is gone, and she’s suddenly desperate, trying to make him understand.

“I have to give her more time. I’m her mother! I have to do something for her. If I do this, we have a chance.”

He places his hand on hers, but she shoves it off. “Tess you are doing everything for her.”

“It’s not enough. Our daughter is dying Scott.” She’s frantic at this point, tapping her pen down on the table, where he finds notes about the various treatments.

“I know that. How could I not know that?” She wants him to react, to explode or be mad at her, but he’s maintaining his calm. It’s almost irritating.

“Then why don’t you want to do something?” That should trigger it. Sure enough, his mask cracks and he clenches his jaw.

“You think I don’t want to do something? Tessa. I want to fix it, of course I do. It’s my daughter. But this won’t help her. If it would, the doctor would have suggested it.”

“I just want.” She doesn’t even know what she wants, not anymore, not since her daughter is dying and her fabric of existence is being ripped from her hands.

“What? What do you want? How much is enough for you?” He knows her too well, a downfall of being lifetime partners.

“Anything. Anything and everything.” Tessa collapses down onto the table, exhausted and brought to tears.

“I know I can’t have her forever but if”

He interrupts her. “It would never be enough”

The revelation sends her sobbing harder, and she finally allows Scott to hold her. He’s safe and secure, and they’re both breaking together.

“I know. I know. “

They stay at the kitchen table for a while, crying and talking while their daughter sleeps. They’ll be okay in the morning, or at least whatever their new ‘okay’ is.

_“I would trade anything for her safety, for another year or month or week or day or hour.”_

_“Even me?”_

_“I”_

_“I would too, my dear. No need for it to remain unspoken.”_

v. Depression

_Depression is the fourth stage of grief, and the one most commonly associated with grief. This is when our attention is finally on the present, and the grief becomes deeper. There doesn’t seem to be a point in carrying on. Everything feels empty and pointless, especially what you cared about before. Talking and being around people is just uncomfortable and hopeless. There are multiple physical symptoms, including trouble sleeping, poor appetite, lack of energy, and crying spells._

Their world is very silent now. No child is running around playing, no silly music. It’s just Tessa and Scott, trying to coexist in a world without their daughter. She’s a ghost everywhere, the toys in her room, the plastic dinnerware in the kitchen, the bubblegum toothpaste in the bathroom, the cartoon movies in the living room. They can’t take it away, because that means that she’s really gone. They aren’t ready to make that step yet. Not with the memories of very breathing being so vivid.

So, the stuff just remains, and they attempt to carry on with their existence. The visitors are mostly gone, there was a rush right before and after the funeral, but they weren’t that helpful anyways. Instead of being there for them, it felt like they were there for themselves, to make themselves feel better. Scott wants to be kind and work through this with them, but every attempt reminds him that there is no way for them to understand. They can say how they relate, but until; they lose their child, their young child, they can’t. It’s not their fault, but it’s just the way it is. At least they gave them some food. Maybe he’ll send them a thank you card, it was a nice gesture. (he won’t)

Scott remembers that someone once told him that funerals are supposed to be a celebration of life, with joy amongst pain. Fond memories shared with people who cared about the deceased and reveling in their accomplishments and all the people they had brought together.

That’s harder when it’s a child sized casket.

People kept coming up to them with stories of their daughter, and instead of healing they just felt like microtears on his heart. He tried to smile, he really did, but as it went on it got more and more difficult. He could feel Tessa at his side, wearing a brittle smile. At least they were alike in breaking.

It was not a celebration.

So they had stayed their allotted time, and then returned to their home. They ignored her stuff, changed into pajamas, and climbed into their separate beds. They had tried sleeping together, but it didn’t work. They didn’t want the same thing anymore.

He’s sleeping in the guest bedroom now, bringing his stuff in slowly, but he doesn’t sleep much, or at least not at night. He lies awake thinking of her, and everything she missed. _She never rode a bike. She never got her fist kiss. She never tried twice baked potatoes._ It’s overwhelming, there’s anything and everything. It’s on constant replay in his mind, on the back of his eyelids.

He can hear Tessa crying across the hall, but he doesn’t’ know how to help her anymore. Once he went in there to try to comfort her, and hug her, but she went crazy and ran away. He tried not to take it personally, he really did, but he misses his wife. He misses his old self too.

His daily routine consists of sleeping, crying, and occasionally eating. His phone kept buzzing, but he just turned it off while ago, he doesn’t remember exactly when. Time doesn’t feel relevant anymore, his life is just before and after. So far, after has been the worst. Things that seemed important before just seem pointless, nothing in comparison to what he had. He’s always exhausted and can’t be bothered to be social or leave the house for reasons other than bare necessities. He runs into Tessa occasionally, but they just make eye contact and one of them leaves the room. He doesn’t know how to reach her anymore. She’s almost a different person, completely changed.

Then again, so is he.

_“I do not know how to exist like this. I need you, but you remind me of her at every turn.”_

_“I know sweetheart. I know.”_

vi. Acceptance

_Acceptance is the final stage of grief. It is not being ‘ok’ with the situation, or no longing missing them. It’s about acknowledging that they are physically gone, and this is the permanently new reality. We have to adjust to our new situation and circumstances. We listen to our needs and begin to live again._

“I’m sorry” They’re sitting in their living room, and the focus is not on them at the moment. Their family surrounds them, and it’s a joyous occasion, so Tessa doesn’t see the need for an apology.

“What? For what.” They’re at their son’s birthday party, and she can’t think of something that he messed up recently.

“For my behavior after her death. For acting like I did.” She can almost see his tension leave his body, as if he had been holding this in for a long time.

“Oh. Oh.” She doesn’t know exactly how to react at first, but he’s looking at her expectantly. It’s a somber moment for a birthday party, but she’s always a part of their lives. There was no other way. She takes a deep breath.

“Me too.”

He tries to wave her off, but she shakes her head and takes his hand. “Tessa.”

“If you’re apologizing, so am I. it felt like I would never get through it, and I blocked you out.”

Her chest feels lighter, and she didn’t realize how much she needed to have this conversation until they did.

“It’s okay.”

“Okay.” They are older now, and wiser, and can finally communicate again.

“I miss her.”

“Me too.”

Somehow that’s enough for right now, and they settle in to watch their son open the rest of his presents. There’s a slight ache in her heart at a time like this, especially with him turning an age she never got to reach. But they are different, always have been, and he should not bear the burden. So, when he smiles up at her after receiving an awesome gift from Aunt Jordan, she grips Scotts hand and smiles back.

Their life is different now, their reality forever altered, but that’s how it is. She will always love her daughter, but she also loves her husband and her son.

Tessa Virtue and Scott Moir are happy.

_“I will miss her for the rest of my existence, for the rest of my being and the rest of my soul, but my life will go on without her, and I will have happiness again.”_

_“We will do it together, my sunshine.”_

**Author's Note:**

> waves shamefully. hey. it's been a while. life's been kinda crazy lately, but I missed you guys. I'm working on some other stuff too, so hopefully more content soon (but no promises)! as always, thanks for the support/comments/kudos. it truly means a lot. hit me up and pressure me to update on virtuemoirlike on twitter, and I'll get off my ass. love y'all! xx Katie.


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